


Exit Wounds

by PinupGhoul



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Weird Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinupGhoul/pseuds/PinupGhoul
Summary: The missing scene from "Fever". Harley Rivera confronts Benny, and it goes better than expected for the both of them.





	Exit Wounds

Whatever this was, The Ben-man could handle it. Easy-peasy. Just because a goddamn ghost materialized in his casino didn't mean things were slated for crashville. Sure, he started out babbling – the guy took him by surprise is all – but he pulled it together real quick.

 

 

“I think we should talk,” said the ghost. Long, lean, and surprisingly vertical, the ghost stared back at him with bright eyes and a hat tipped low over the holes in his head.

 

 

Ain't that a sight. He gestured to the open seat beside him at the bar. Swank never let anyone within a hundred feet of Benny with so much as a butter knife in their pocket. Unless the guy started throwing punches, he didn't pose much of a threat. Not even then. This scrawny guy couldn't hold a candle to a Boot Rider. Although coming back from the dead, that was something.

 

 

“You got questions, I got answers.”

 

 

And boy, did he have questions. How's a cat supposed to get a word in edgewise when he kept throwing out “What's the chip? Why me? Who's Mr. House?”

 

 

“What, you writing a book?” Even at second glance, the ghost – Rivera by name – didn't look all that intimidating. If it weren't for the thin mustache on his lip, making the guy look like the old posters in the lobby, he'd look just like a punk kid. More than safe to talk business. “What say you and me cash out, go somewheres private-like?” The Presidential suite was real slick, and private, too. It'd be bad luck to have the boys hearing about this plan of his. Rivera might just come in handy, though. A lackey, that's what he needed, some goof to show up, follow orders, and not think too much.

 

 

He ordered the kid a drink, turned on his heel, and headed up the elevator. He just needed a second to get this whole plan thing smoothed out. If he was gonna waltz into The Tops like he owned the Strip, he might be worth more than a headache. Even alone in the elevator, he rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. What did he know about headaches, compared to Rivera? For all he knew, those shots could've done real damage. That goofy smile, the way he bellied up to the bar without a care in the world, how was he supposed to be sure the guy was playing with a full deck?

 

 

He downed one cocktail for nerves, but paused before pouring a second. If this guy was up to something fishy, he didn't want to be half out of his wits. A knock at the door had him swinging around. “It's open.”

 

 

Rivera snuck in, shutting the door behind him. “Tell me about your plans. How can I help? The Followers want the Strip to control itself, and I think you've got the best bet so far. Tell me what to do.”

 

 

He'd tell him what to do. He'd tell him to get the hell out of here, go back to being dead somewhere. Somewhere he couldn't rattle anybody with that odd ball smile. There was too much truth in it, that was the problem. Enough to set a guy's teeth on edge.

 

 

Rivera flopped into a cushy chair just opposite the private bar. “I want to help.”

 

 

“What do you really want, kid?” It couldn't be as simple as that. No one was nice for nice's sake. Unless this guy was dumber than he thought.

 

 

Rivera tilted his head. He stared at Benny. He couldn't make eye contact, looking at those red-rimmed bullet holes. Rivera said, “Lots of things. Food. A shower. A real bed.” He leveled his eyes, forcing Benny to meet them. “Someone in it.”

 

 

Was he for real? “This ain't Gomorrah, baby.”

 

 

“I was hoping someone would show me the tops.”

 

 

Oh, he knew that look. And he didn't like it one bit. He was about to haul ass out of this whole mess when Rivera sat himself down at the bar, knees pressed against Benny's.

 

 

“Hey, I don't know if your eggs got scrambled,” he pointed to the scars, “or what, but this is nuts. I shoot you, you try to kill me, dig? Not whatever this is. Are you...coming on to me?” What a day this turned out to be. “Not to burst your bubble, but this cat don't swing like that.” Not a chance. Benny was devoted to the chicks. A nice pair of charlies, a real shape in a drape, that's the kind of thing he went for. Not any scrawny wasteland Joes. Sure, the thought crossed his mind once in a blue moon, but that was all natural. Just because he was a little curious about how the other half lived, didn't mean anything.

 

 

Rivera sat back, but didn't move his knees. He looked sure of himself, wearing that dumb smile and a too-tight suit he must've borrowed off some unlucky guy. Benny needed a cigarette. How was this whole plan supposed to go down with his right-hand man making eyes at him? As soon as he brought one to his lips, Rivera flicked out a light.

 

 

“Oh, real cute.” He reached out to snatch his own, personal lighter out of his hand, but Rivera pulled it back. He held it steady under the cig tip until it caught, then tucked it back into his own pocket.

 

 

“You need to be more careful with your belongings,” he said.

 

 

Benny snorted and took a drag. “You need to find the front door.”

 

 

And then one of those hands was on his kneecap, and sweat was sticking his pompadour to his forehead.

 

 

“Wouldn't this be a good story?” Rivera held his palm firm, not grabbing, not demanding, just still. “You kill me, I come back, we team up?”

 

 

“Sure, but I think you and I have got a very different definition of teaming up.” The damn air conditioning must be down again. The room nearly boiled him alive. He tugged at the collar of his checkered suit.

 

 

“No one's around.” He slid his hand higher with every word. “We wouldn't get caught.”

 

 

Why wasn't he moving? His legs stopped working, but his heart was going triple time. If he could only move, he'd split before this got any raunchier.

 

 

“There's a bed right there.” His hand rested against Benny's fly.

 

 

Which way was the wind gonna blow on this one? Twenty steps to the door, twenty to the bed. Shit, but looking into those pretty brown eyes got him razzed up. He was right; no one would have to find out, so long as this little birdie didn't go singing.

 

 

“This is some payback.” Oh, so now his no-good legs decided to move? They let him go over to the bed, sit down, and take his shoes off. Rivera just watched, eyes narrowing to something predatory. Was this how dames felt in the heat of the moment? His head went woozy. “Clue me in on how this works.” It was that damn smile, made him want to shut up and listen.

 

 

Rivera wasted no time, straddling his hips and pulling their goods together. When had he gotten hard? Can't trust anyone, not even your own jimmy. As far as bad ideas went, this might be a highlight. Hands in his hair, then lips on his neck. Benny bucked into the contact. Sex was sex. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And if that was to give this guy the ride of his life, so be it. He wasn't about to back down from a challenge. _If that didn't feel good...._ He pulled Rivera in by the waist, grinding their hips together for more friction.

 

 

Rivera leaned in, like he was aiming for a kiss.

 

 

“Not on your life.”

 

 

He didn't even flinch, just moved on to unbuttoning Benny's collar, kissing down every bit of skin he bared.

 

 

He grabbed fistfuls of Rivera's shirt, but the guy just tugged it off, giving him nothing to hold onto.

 

 

“Take off your pants,” the courier said.

 

 

Oh, he was real gone now. But when somebody's sitting pretty between your knees, looking up at you with hungry eyes, you tend not to think. So off came the pants. And the drawers. The air conditioning must've been working just fine; he went a little soft in the cold air. And then the guy was eyeballing him, making him all nervous-like.

 

 

“You got it memorized or what?”

 

 

“Sorry. Can I?”

 

 

He sure as hell could. Rivera's mouth was something else. He smiled still as he swallowed him down, not even pausing for breath, a real champion. It did wonders for a cat's guilt, seeing him kneel for an entirely different reason. Well, he'd get a load shot in him, alright. And he may not be walking straight for a long while. Not that Rivera'd mind, with the way he was moving his tongue. Girlies on the Strip had less practice. What this guy was, was a professional.

 

 

“Good?” he asked with his mouth full.

 

 

“You're platinum, baby.” That shaggy hair felt smoother than it looked. Made a nice handle, too.

 

 

Rivera sat back.

 

 

“Where you going?” So this was it, his punishment? Razz him up and leave him?

 

 

“I don't want you to cum yet. I've got some plans of my own.”

 

 

“So long as you're not leaving me high and dry, I'm in.”

 

 

With a slinky little move, Rivera stood between his legs. Then somehow, Benny's back was on the mattress and Rivera hovered over him.

 

 

“Stay right there.”

 

 

Like he was going anywhere. Only a couple 'a minutes in, and already ready to spill. Rivera dug around for something in his pack. His ass made a pretty picture when he bent over. It'd be just like rolling around with a chick. All he had to do was get it over with, get off, and all that guilt and worry and sneaky little bit of curiosity would split.

 

 

“I'm gonna teach you, ok?”

 

 

The Ben-man hardly needed a teacher. “Baby, this is what you might call my area of expertise.” So what if the usual experience was only in the front door?

 

 

“If you say so. Roll over on your stomach.”

 

 

“Baby, you're the boss. All you gotta do is whistle.” Everything was going just peachy until Rivera's hands grabbed a handful of his ass. If this guy thought he'd get away with this, he had another thing coming. “Who do you think you are?” He had to bend around to look him in the eyes, fixing him with a glare.

 

 

“You said I'm the boss.” His smile got even brighter. “But I understand if you're scared.”

 

 

That does it. So he wasn't jazzed about the idea, but getting called a coward on his own turf? “If I don't like it...”

 

 

“I'll stop. I promise.”

 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Let's get this show on the road.” Two seconds in, and he was ready to call it quits. Rivera had one hand on the small of his back, and the finger of another where it had no business being. He bit his lip so hard he could only taste blood. How was a guy supposed to get off on this?

 

 

Then Rivera added another slicked up finger, working it in next to the first. It hurt like crazy. He stuffed his face into the sheets. No sense giving the guy the satisfaction of seeing his face all screwed up. He did something fancy, twisted his wrist maybe, and suddenly fireworks went off in front of his squeezed shut eyes. “Wowee. I think you're onto something.” Little sparks tingled up his spine, like blowin' his load, except without the mess. “Do it again.”

 

 

“You like that?”

 

 

What kind of question was that, when he pulled his hand away? But it came back, another finger, stretching him wide open like some tight virgin. He needed something to hold onto. The red satin sheets slid right out of his grasp. Everytime Rivera thrust his fingers, Benny scooted up a little on the bed, just enough to rub his jimmy against the fabric, but not enough to get him off. “Get a move on, will you?”

 

 

“I thought you weren't that interested.”

 

 

“Real funny.”

 

 

Rivera paused, his tip lined up, pressing teasingly in. “You know what _is_ funny? The boss of The Tops. As a bottom.”

 

 

“Baby, I won't miss a third time.” This smug bastard.

 

 

Rivera laughed as he sank into him.

 

 

It was like being split in half. Three fingers did nothing to get him ready for all that. His eyes blurred. Rivera slid home, sending him reeling up toward the headboard. The splintered wood gave him some sorta handhold so that his thrusts didn't send him through the wall. The pillows muffled his noises. This Rivera – this ghost of his – knew a few things. Mercy wasn't one of them. Back from the dead to fuck his brains out. A real ring-a-ding guy.

 

 

He musta changed angles, because all of a sudden he was hitting that spot every time, pounding him until all he could say was “ _Baby, baby, baby...._ ” It was really something. Hurt like nobody's business, but there he was, cumming on the sheets all the same.

 

 

A hot streak across his sore ass said Rivera'd finished right after.

 

 

The bed bounced up as Rivera stepped back. All he could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling, watching little stars go round his head.

 

 

“Well?”

 

 

“Well?”

 

 

“How was it?” Rivera pulled on his suit, wiping himself off on the sheets. Who did that, anyway?

 

 

“The tops, baby.” As far as experiments went, this one was a real winner. Already dressed and all, Rivera didn't seem like the clingy type, so no need to tell him it was a one-time, hush-hush deal.

 

 

Rivera laughed, but sounded a mile and a half away.

 

 

He yawned and threw a hand over his face to block out the light. He could use a few Z's before heading out to the main floor. “Leaving so soon?”

 

 

That smile again. “Thought you'd appreciate a hit and run.”

 

 

And just like that, he was all alone. Later, he'd cash out for Fortification Hill, but now? Now he'd wait, at least until his legs stopped shaking.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I've never gotten the hang of writing in deep POV before, and of course I had to practice with Benny. How can I not? He has a very, um, distinct speech pattern. Let me know how I did, please!


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